Why do you see right through me
by luft
Summary: heartaches are part of every teenaged girl's life
1. Chapter 1

1.**Am I not pretty enough?**

Hermione.

She did not really know what has become of her lately. On the whole, everything seemed fine. She was still Miss Hands-In-The-Air, the Know-It-All of the sixth-years. The library was still where she spent most of her time in between classes, and her nose was still in a different book at different times of the day. But only she knew the slight shift in her daily activities. Like how she would look straight ahead at the Professor when answering a question, and immediately go back to her book after finishing the answer, avoiding anyone's gaze. Or how she would march straight after class to the library, without so much as a pause to say goodbye to her friends. Or how the books helped to cover the sights that she did not want to see. Him. and Her. But nothing can stop the sound of them. Of the kisses that should be on and from her lips. Of the giggles that should come from her mouth when he whispers in her ear. Of the soft rustle of fabric when he moves his hands up and down what should be her

It continued to the night, the happy sighs of a young girl who can't believe her luck in snagging the dreamy red-head. The blow-by-blow account she would give to her best friend of her time with him that day. Them analysing every single look, caress and kiss he gave her. And Hermione could only sit in her bed, hangings drawn, pretending to read or practice a spell, when all she really did was..well, "I won't be so silly as that.." she thought, sniffling.

And when morning comes, she steels herself to get up and leave the seclusion of her bed, to face another day of in-your-face heartaches. She pushes the curtain open and proceeds to the bathroom. She had just come out, looking fresh as a daisy, smelling of -how original, lavender- and with a radiant smile on her already pleasant face. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, the quintessential youthful beauty. Hermione closed the door and stares at her reflection in the mirror. _What, Ron, am I not pretty enough?_


	2. Chapter 2

**2. Am I too outspoken?/ I take it like a man**

Angelina.

Six years in Hogwarts had taught her that it was foolish to hope for a day that bore some semblance of normalcy. In a school where brooms replaced hockey sticks, cauldrons replaced test tubes and owls replaced a postage stamp, normal just did not cut it. Heck, the entire school population was anything but normal. So Angelina was not in the least bewildered when she found herself staring at two old men sporting long white hair, beards and moustaches long enough to rival Dumbledore's, moments after she had placed a piece of parchment bearing her name into a fire-spewing cup.

Smirking and shaking her head at their audacity, she walked past the two almost-17-year-old septuagenarians, who were now drawing all the attention in the Great Hall, even more so now with their nondescript white hair instead of the usual fiery red. She caught one of their eyes, realised with a start that it was -him, although how she could tell through the Dumbledore-esque beard she did not know- and gave him her best 'I-told-you-so' look, as she -or so she hoped- coolly and calmly walked towards her waiting, and now laughing, friends. As they walked out of the Great Hall, she could not help but turn to look and smile at him again, thinking that despite the ridiculous facial hair, if that was how he would look like at 70, it was a face she would gladly wake up to every morning - dentures and all. But the smile died on her lips, just when she saw an enamoured and rather beautiful fifth-year finger with his newfound beard playfully, flirtatiously..that same ridiculous beard that she would force him to shave should he want to keep it at 70. She knew that feeling in her stomach this morning was because of her nervousness in entering her name for the tournament, it was the same feeling she got before every Quidditch match. But this feeling now was new to her. Cold. Bitter. Nauseating. It was something she kept feeling lately, especially when the attentions of a certain redhead was focused on someone young and female, who was never her. Whipping her head back, she mustered all the pride in her and walked out briskly, never aware of the same pair of eyes that was now watching her, have always been watching her.

* * *

As she closed the hangings of her four-poster bed -and in which universe other than this would a boarding school come with such lavish sleeping options, she mused- her mind wondered to the events of the day. In all her six years in this fantastical place, today's announcement at dinner had to be the most 'normal' of all that she's heard coming from the Great Hall, and yet also the most sensational. She smiled dreamily as she tried to picture that elusive dream dress that would make him realise that she _is_ a girl, that she is capable of beauty too, despite her athleticism and her brashness. Her girlish daydreams came to a crash as a picture of her in that as-yet-to-be-found, but gorgeous nonetheless, dress, was joined by him looking dapper in formalwear. Even in her mind's eye, it looked impossible, like the fairy tale her mother used to tell her, about the beauty falling in love with the beast. She never believed that story, even as a child. She learned at an early age to not side with the princess, she knew even then that she was never going to be the princess who the prince will fall for - she always took the side of the trusty sidekick to the prince. His best mate. The goofy one who makes everyone laugh, the tomboy who the boys turn to for 'inside infortmation'.

The best mate never gets the prince, was her last thought before she fell asleep.

* * *

When the prince asked his best mate the next day to be his princess, she wondered if she really had woken up from her sleep and brushed her teeth that morning.


End file.
